I had the opportunity to visit Sternberg in the Swabian Alps, just a short drive away from where my sister lives. She and her mother took me on an adventure through the greenery of the charming mountains. On our way up, we stuck to a path of gravel, surrounded by trees that obscured the view. Just before the three of us broke through the treeline, my sister told me I wasn’t allowed to look. I knew she was talking about the view I had yet to behold, and I trusted her, knowing patience would increase the beauty of the experience.
The other was perched ever-so-elegantly upon intricately embroidered pillows and cushions, a novel from the bookshelf blessed by their selection, and a warm fire burning beside them, illuminating the inked patterns which kept languor at bay. Their hungry eyes ravaged the pages of the book, moving back and forth across the delicate sheets. Unbeknownst to them, their lover habitually admired them from across the chambers, wholly distracted from their writings.
The lover sighed, resting their chin in their hand, merely watching the ethereal creature across the room. The orange light of the fire served to highlight the other’s beautiful visage, but the flames didn’t dare to compete with the other’s stunning eyes. Everything about the other was incredible: Their mind, their soul, their body...
I am enclosed in a Box, like many other souls. Some come willingly, some are forced.
I'm not sure how I got here: Purposely; accidentally: it doesn't matter now. I simply dwell in this Box.
I can look into the world, I can interact with it-- I won't join it.
From inside my Box, I see life. I see glimpses of its worth, which isn't much to me.
When I look around the Box, I see fragments of something. it isn't life-- more like the opposite.
In the world, people are in their own Boxes. I see people go towards the fragments in their Boxes. some people are drawn naturally, some people force others towards them, some people are tempted, some go there of their own free will. all people will reach them, at their own paces-- willingly or not.
The smile faded as the light fades from the sky: When the sky mimics blood, And everything is bathed in gold. But the light did not return when the rotation began anew: It was as sudden as that eighth minute after Solaris expired.
little demons dance around in hours where no sun is found; insomniacs called to unite as responsibility returns to bite. while freer souls are seen in play the peers must rue the coming day. a punishment enforced, a daily chore leaves innocence weeping on the floor.
I wanted to produce something visible that filled the beholder With pride and awe: and when they looked and saw it, joyous tears would flow forth And drown all doubt. To My great horror, it caused irreversible damage to the witnesses. It ruined their spirits, as they saw only roaring monsters. overwhelmed with grief, embarrassment, and anger, they ripped my invention off the wall.